Too Beautiful
by alwayslovingyou
Summary: Just like snow. AU season one LP/ONESHOT


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Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill.

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_too beautiful by alwayslovingyou

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She laughs when she is sad. She cries when she is happy.

He laughs when he is happy. He cries when he is sad.

She thinks he is weird, not just because of these things. He stares too much, speaks too little. He is too happy for a person who has to cope with his so called brother every day, and his so called father. He is too happy for a person who never gets a chance to show his talents.

But what does she know?

She doesn't know him at all.

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He thinks she is far too beautiful for someone who looks at life like it is illness, and death is the cure. Far too beautiful. She wastes her talent by hiding her artwork in her black portfolio. She is far too much closed to the world which surrounds her, how will she ever be happy if she never opens her heart?

To pain, to happiness, to grief, to love?

To him?

But who is he? He doesn't even know her.

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She thinks she is far to complicated. For her, a teenage girl should be bubbly, happy and carefree. Not someone like her. Someone who paints her walls red and puts a web cam into her room, someone who thinks it is normal to never be happy.

Ever.

After all, there is no one, no one, who could ever make her happy.

Or so she thinks.

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He thinks he is far too weak, not only for himself, but for his mother as well. For him, he is a complete mess of unanswered wishes and unfulfilled dreams. He thinks he is not enough. And how he will never be enough.

For her.

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She thinks he is weird. Because he looks at her and sees her. Because she insults him, but he listens. Because she shouts at him, and he smiles.

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He thinks she is far too beautiful. Because she is unaware how her beauty captured him. Because she doesn't care. Because she just is.

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He once made her smile. Mind you, he never saw it in person. They were the only ones in the CD shop, and both of them wanted the new album from Travis. But there was only one copy.

Their hands touched, fingers grazed when both of them reached for the CD.

She gave him a glare, he gave her a smile.

Later that night, while she was listening to the same CD, sometime around track eight, she smiled. And the smile grew into a laugh, and the laugh grew into a small series of giggles. When the song finished, her laughter faded away. And she felt naked.

Because she smiled, she felt naked. And unsafe. And cold.

She felt scared because he made her smile.

Because he made her happy.

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She watches him, sometimes, not that often. She finds his laughter contagious, his eyes too deep, his lips too pink and too poisonous. She wonders what it would be like to kiss his lips. She is sure it would be slow, maybe even too slow, but she would only want more. She is sure the kiss would be soft, not like clouds or rose petals, but soft as silk. Yes, silk.

He meets her eyes, sometimes, not that often, and she blushes. For the first time, her cheeks get coloured with a light shade of red, not pink, but a light shade of red. But she doesn't look away.

And when he smiles, she smiles back.

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And soon, not that soon, but still soon, it will be one of those long winter nights, the snow will cover the small town of Tree Hill with a white cloak.

She will remember how her mother and she used to make snow angels. Looking through her bedroom window, she will see angels.

And then, she will ran out of her room, so fast she could fall, down the stairs, and straight into the snow.

She will become an angel.

He will take a walk just because. And he would pass her house like he always does.

His eyes will catch the beautiful golden angel. His eyes will lit up with a spark when he sees the snow in her hair, her carefree smile, her childlike behaviour.

Soon, not that soon, but still soon, he will be right next to her. Becoming an angel.

She will stop. He will to.

She will look into his eyes, find them very, very deep, like before, too deep. Then his lips, too pink, too poisonous.

He will look into her eyes, find them too sad, too tortured, too closed up to the world. Then her lips, too beautiful.

And her blush won't be from the coldness, but because she will realize how his lips aren't soft like silk.

But like snow.

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Soon, she will be happy when he kisses her, and he will kiss her when she is sad.

Soon, he will be enough. For his mother, for himself. For her.

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Not yet, but soon.

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End file.
